A Massage Message
by Laucww
Summary: Hermione's work is getting too intense for her body to handle. Can a gifted mysterious massage therapist help her relax? Dramione, rated M for future lemons.
1. Chapter 1

**I do not own anything Harry Potter.**

CHAPTER 1

Hermione had always known being an auror would be difficult work, but she had no idea.

The stress was really getting to her. Day in and day out, she rose to a dark apartment, throwing her long, curly hair up into a messy bun and grabbing some coffee before running to the flue. Her days were full of intrigue and violence and fear – never a dull moment – and then it was back home in the dark, just in time to sleep for a few hours before the whole process began again.

She knew herself well enough to know that she wouldn't be happier doing anything else. Hermione found great fulfillment in ridding the wizarding world of the dark wizards that seemed to still turn up with concerning constancy. And of course, she was working with her two best friends in the world, as well as an amazing team of aurors and support staff. She knew how lucky she was.

"Still, though," she huffed to herself as she filed yet another report at her desk. Not since the war had the muscles in her back been so tense, had the tension headaches crept up with alarming intensity. Her mother was always reminding her, on the rare occasions that Hermione had time to talk on the phone during the work day, to listen to her body. "The pain is symptomatic of bigger issues, Mione – take care of yourself!" she often warned.

Hermione looked up from her work and closed her eyes. What did she need? What would help? She didn't have time for a visit to the healers, and she didn't have the patience to visit a muggle doctor anymore. No, this was a problem that only could be solved by Hermione's guiltiest pleasure – a masseuse.

She considered herself a very low maintenance woman – she never splurged on her hair or nails or makeup or clothes – really, she never splurged on anything. Well, her book buying habit was a little of control, but books were not an indulgence. They were a deep need, and without her reading time, she reasoned with herself, she would not be as well-adjusted as she was. "Keep telling yourself that," she mumbled.

But a good massage could be just the ticket. Not time consuming, not expensive, and very discreet – a bargain in self-maintenance to her introverted self. She would pop by her favorite masseuse on her way home from work tonight, she decided, and then put the thought out of her head. She had work to do.

Harry stuck his head in the door and knocked simultaneously.

"Hermione? Ready?"

She jumped, totally unaware of where she was for a moment. Work had a tendency to transport her outside of herself sometimes.

"Sorry, Mione," Harry laughed and moved a stack of papers off the lone chair she kept for guests. "Didn't meant to startle you. Just wondering if you were ready to go out? It's Friday, you know." He grinned, knowing she was still coming back to earth.

She shook her head forcefully, her curls releasing themselves from her bun and making her seem more disheveled. "Sorry Harry. You know how I get. It's been a bit of a day." She rubbed her eyes, surprised at how nice this small gesture of self-care felt. She'd never needed a massage more!

"I know what you mean. Ron and I were just out visiting the Bilger's home. More dark objects on the property. When will ever collect them all?" Harry looked exhausted, too, but had an air of lightness to his demeanor that puzzled her for a moment – until she remembered. Ginny was back in town today. No wonder Harry was anxious to get out of the office.

She smiled knowingly at her friend. "Ginny going to be there tonight?"

His face lit up. "Yes, thank Merlin! Two weeks on the road is too long. Any chance you could talk her into taking a more local assignment with the paper?"

She laughed, then hid her smile with her hand when she realized he was serious. "Harry, c'mon. You know Ginny doesn't listen to me. That's like asking me to quit this job. Might it be good for me? Safer, even? Probably, but when has that ever convinced me of anything? Or her, for that matter."

"I know you're right. Just wish…" he trailed off, looking deep in thought.

"She was here all the time? Me too. She makes everything more fun, doesn't she?" Hermione said helpfully.

"It's more than that, Mione. I need her close. There's no one like her, nor will there ever be. I'm thinking it's time to propose," he said mischievously, knowing that this simple sentence would throw Hermione into a whirlwind of yelping and jumping – and it did just that. Hermione came flying around the desk and threw her arms around Harry, grinning and squeezing him tightly.

"Really? Oh, I'm so excited! And she's going to be ecstatic," she said, holding Harry at arms' length. "But in all seriousness, you do know she's not going to choose to stay at home just because you propose, right? That's not the reason behind this decision?"

"No, no, not at all. I just want her to know that this is forever for me, for us to start working towards our future. I love her so much, Mione. She's the only family I've ever really had. I want to make our dream future a reality."

He looked so happy she could barely contain her joy. She hugged him again, then sighed. "I'd love to join you tonight, but I've got some errands to run, and then I'm heading home to collapse for the weekend. Maybe Sunday we could brunch?"

Harry looked disappointed, but said he understood, gave her a hug and made her promise to stay quiet about the proposal plans. She promised discretion, and he left as she gathered her things.

Carrying about thirty pounds of briefcase, work files, and library books, Hermione felt her muscles straining as she walked out of the Ministry and down the street. Thankfully, her masseuse was only a few blocks away. She promised herself that she wouldn't wait this long again to visit – maybe she should just make a standing weekly appointment while she was there this evening.

Turning the corner, she was struck by the last of the sunset, throwing purple and pink shades across the sky with abandon. Just lovely, and she felt a bit of stress drain away. She didn't get enough beauty in her life. In fact, she couldn't remember the last time she had gazed on anything quite as beautiful as the sky in this moment.

She opened the door to the masseuse's office and a familiar jingle of bells accompanied her entrance. Hermione set her things in a chair in the lobby and started the process of checking in when she was greeted by a smiling woman, petite and lithe. This was Gretchen, owner of the parlor and a wonderful masseuse herself.

"Good evening, Miss Granger. In for a quick massage? It's been awhile since I've seen you!" she said as she gestured to a room.

"Yes, though I would appreciate more than just a quick massage tonight. I've got some serious knots in my back this time around. Any chance you have about an hour available?" Hermione asked as she gathered her things.

The owner pursed her lips and thought for a moment. "I have an appointment that starts in a few minutes, but luckily I hired a new masseuse the other day. Would you be alright seeing someone else tonight? I can vouch for his work – he's incredibly strong and I think you'll be pleased with his technique." She smiled kindly, putting Hermione at ease.

A male masseuse? She quickly ran through her mind, trying to decide if she had any qualms, but decided she did not. She was definitely more comfortable with a fellow woman in the room, but she was desperate for some relief.

"No, that'll be fine, thank you," she smiled. "And could you write me down for another visit next week? Just look over your calendar and let me know when you have some availability. I need to start doing this more often."

"Of course, Miss Granger. I'm glad you'll be coming in again soon – maybe we can have a chance to chat then. Please let me know if you have any issues tonight. I hope he'll be able to help you feel better." With that, Gretchen closed the door behind her and left Hermione to undress.

Hermione made quick work of her auror robes, socks, shoes and bra. All utilitarian, all standard wear for her line of work. Part of the appeal of the work for her was the ability to dress for the nature of the job, not to impress. She didn't have room in her brain to put together flattering outfits – though she had to admit to herself that she had a better than average figure. The way she looked was such a low priority that it rarely crossed her mind to really pay it any mind.

Feeling a little vulnerable in just her panties, she crossed the room quickly and got settled face down on the massage table, covering her lower half with the sheet and pulling her hair back as she placed her face into the cushions. She tucked her arms under the sheet and tried to stop shivering. It wasn't even cold in the room, so she didn't know why she had gotten so chilled.

Just laying down was so relaxing, she might well pass out before the masseuse even walked in. She forced herself to go over her most recent work situation while she waited to she wouldn't….and then, she was sound asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**NOTE: Thank you all for your kind words and follows/hearts. This is my first story and I've been super nervous about the reaction. How lovely to wake up and see so many nice friends excited about the next chapter!

**I do not own anything Harry Potter.**

CHAPTER 2

Her dreams - always a mixed bag of violence and fear, beauty and glory - were tending more towards the former these days. It probably has something to do with the amount of time I'm in the office, or working from home, or thinking about work, she thought to herself. Hermione was always strangely cognizant that she was dreaming, very rarely believing herself to be truly in danger. But the unsettled feeling she had after an evening of nightmares could shake her. What were her dreams trying to tell her?

Hermione awoke with a start. Someone was in the room with her! Where was she? What was happening? And why was she lying face down?

Just as she was about to sit up and tear out of the room, a soothing voice spoke up. "Relax, relax, Miss Granger." A hand, warm and strong, rested on her shoulder and lightly rubbed across her upper back. "May I begin your massage?"

There was something familiar about the voice, something odd about the way the person speaking sounded when he said her name. She began to turn her head so she could see the therapist and confirm that she had met him before. But as soon as she slightly lifted her head, the hand on her back firmly pushed her back down. Not in an overbearing way, though – it was a sure movement from a hand that had healed many ailments over the years. Hermione was not one to trust the unknown, but she tried to let her guard down.

"Um, yes, please," she said tentatively. "How long was I asleep? It feels like I dozed off for about an hour. My head is so foggy." She laughed, and heard him chuckle above her.

"You really weren't out long. I saw that you were asleep when I first came in, so I left and let you sleep for about fifteen minutes. I didn't want to let you be late in case you had another engagement this evening, though, so I thought we'd better get started."

Yes, that voice was definitely familiar. It was bothering her why she couldn't place it. One thing was for sure – all this stress was really hampering her logical thinking.

Once again, she began to lift her head to see the man standing next to her, but just as she started to move, his fingers pushed deeply into the base of her skull, and she sighed, forgetting her need to understand and see. How could he possibly know that's where she stored most of her nervous energy?

For the next few minutes, there was no noise in the room, save for the soothing spa sounds that Gretchen had piped into the therapy rooms. Hermione was hardly aware of when the therapist moved around the table, or added oil to his hands, or changed position on her neck and back. Usually, such interruptions, small though they were, messed with her ability to truly relax. But whoever this guy was, he was gifted, and Hermione felt herself enter a deep calm. He must have felt the change, too, because she heard a small chuckle.

"Glad you're finally loosened up. I'm going to start using more pressure now. If you need me to use less, just say so. I don't want to hurt you."

She sighed again, and his strong fingers began really kneading the tension in her shoulders. Often, she found she had to mention specific areas to Gretchen so she would attend to them enough to give her some relief. There was no need with him, though. He seemed to know exactly where she hid her pain.

She must've dozed off again, because she was suddenly aware of his hands leaving her and a warm blanket being draped over her shoulders. Before she could lift her head off the table, he was gone.

Hermione redressed and slowly sipped the chilled water bottle thoughtfully put out for her. Try as she might, she could not determine whose voice she had been hearing. She decided she would ask Gretchen when she got out into the lobby. She had to know who had released so much tension from her body.

When she arrived in the lobby, however, there was no one in sight. A small note stood on the entryway table addressed to her:

Hermione,

My apologies that I couldn't stay to visit with you. I hope you are already feeling more relaxed! I've made a return appointment for you on Tuesday at 5:30 – we'll get you paid out for both appointments next week.

Have a lovely evening,

Gretchen

That was exceedingly kind, Hermione thought, and she smiled to herself. She hoped Gretchen had had the foresight to place her with the therapist from today once again.


	3. Chapter 3

**Thanks again to everyone reading – please read and review! I live for your follows and reactions! And don't worry – there'll be some real interaction between our favorite characters in the next chapter :)

**I do not own Harry Potter.**

CHAPTER 3

Draco froze. There was still time to back out of the room, if he did it very, very slowly.

Why hadn't Gretchen given him any more information about his next client than a passing "she's a regular and she needs some serious help" comment? He had instantly felt validated in this new job, since the owner clearly already valued his abilities enough to send him in with a well-established client. He supposed that was part of her plan – give him no information and a boost of ego to keep him from asking questions. Draco mentally berated himself for being so easy to manipulate.

And now here he was, standing in the doorway, scared out of his wits. He would know that brown curly hair from anywhere. The woman he most fervently prayed he would never bump into again, lying on his massage table. Merlin has some sense of humor.

Draco had spent the first year after the war hiding in all manner of desperate situations with his parents, trying to avoid the consequences of his father's decisions. It was only after his mother had found a lump in her breast, and then died only two months after the discovery, that he realized he didn't have to spend his whole life hiding. He didn't have to protect his mother anymore, and there was no reason to continue the broken relationship with his father.

Despite this, it took him many months to get up the courage to escape. He knew he couldn't face his father – even broken and exhausted as he was, Lucius was a formidable foe. So he tracked down an abandoned portkey close to where they were staying in Prague and was instantly transported to London.

It's not like he had really rejoined the wizarding community since leaving, though. In fact, he had done everything in his power to avoid his old friends and classmates. Draco had been fixated on the idea of becoming a healer – he had the skills and the grades to train and work at St. Mungo's - but he couldn't face anyone just yet. His only option was to turn to muggle medicine and therapy, and after completing his licensing in massage therapy, he had been lucky to find a job with Gretchen. His only worry was how close the shop was to the Ministry.

And for good reason, evidently! Because here he was, staring at the smooth skin of Hermione Granger's back, terrified of her reaction if she saw him. Just as he had the presence of mind to start backing towards the door, bringing the doorknob with him, her deep breathing hitched and she began to sit up.

Moving faster than he had ever done before, he crossed the room in what seemed like one leap and tried to seem reassuring. He touched her gently, hoping that she would relax and he could work without her even realizing he had been there.

Would she recognize his voice? His tone seemed strangled and harsh to his ears – he was working so hard to seem normal and calm – but she seemed entirely unaware that anything was amiss.

As he began to massage her neck and shoulders, he was surprised at how tense and tight she felt. Draco knew, of course, that she was an auror, and based only on his personal experience of how hard the entire Ministry community had tried to find the Malfoys for the last few years, it must be an exhausting job. He didn't feel any residual anger towards the Ministry, though – his father and the rest of the Death Eaters were scum, and deserved to be brought in and tried.

He tried to communicate all of these feelings – these overwhelming, intense emotions he was experiencing at seeing Granger again – into his massage, letting his fear go as he worked her muscles. He found massage as therapeutic as his clients did, maybe even more so. Being able to give someone relief from pain and anxiety helped him understand himself as a kind, giving individual, instead of the boy his father had raised him to be. He was a good person, he reminded himself, as he steadily pressed his strong fingers into the places he knew bothered him the most when he was stressed.

Before he knew it, Granger was asleep again on the table. Draco smiled to himself as she began softly snoring. Before she could wake and start questioning him again, he spread a warm blanket over her shoulders and pulled a water bottle out of the fridge. Then – quickly again – he rushed to the door and softly closed it behind him.

He couldn't help himself, though, from watching her exit from the employee's lounge in the back. Even though the security footage was grainy and black and white, he could see that Granger had transformed into a stunning woman, confident and successful and beautiful to boot.

He could only hope he would never see her again.


	4. Chapter 4

**Thanks so much to all of you who have reviewed and commented and encouraged me to keep going on this story! I'm so excited to get back into it.**

**I do not own Harry Potter.**

CHAPTER 4

After having a truly incredible massage on Friday evening, Hermione had practically skipped all the way home. Once there, she poured herself a glass of wine with the intention of relaxing and watching a movie. Not even three sips in, she passed out on her couch, fully dressed with heels still on, and awoke ten hours later, completely rested and without a single nightmare.

There was something about that massage. She knew, logically, that Gretchen and her team were all muggles. After all, that's part of the reason she was a patron. She liked that the "magic" they performed was just humans giving one another comfort and pain relief – nothing extraordinary. It's exactly what she loved about her parents and their dental practice.

"But this was a totally different massage than I've ever had before!" she argued loudly, already on her fourth mimosa at Sunday brunch. She had made this point multiple times, but always to giggles. Why was no one listening?

Ginny rolled her eyes and gently took the champagne flute from her hands. "We understand it was amazing, Hermione. You've already told us."

"I think Hermione must've gotten a different kind of massage than her usual," Harry said, laughing and wiggling his eyebrows mischievously. Ron and Neville guffawed.

"That's what I'm saying, Harry! It was different. It was…magical, somehow."

The boys howled with laughter until Ginny shot them a look and they quieted down and had the decency to look ashamed. Finally catching on to their teasing, Hermione blushed to the top of her forehead and hid her face in her hands.

"Not that kind of magical, geez! C'mon, guys, I don't seem that hard up, do I?" she asked, trying to contain the embarrassment she felt.

Ginny leaned over and put an arm around her. "Of course not, Mione. You just never talk about anything but work here lately, and all you've talked about so far this morning is this massage. Makes us all wonder…" she drifted off.

"What?" Hermione waited for Ginny's answer, but hearing none, she asked the group. "What do you wonder?"

"Whether you should be having more of a life outside of work, Mione," Ron said gently. "You haven't been on a date in a year or more, right?"

The blush was back. She didn't want to discuss her dating life with anyone, much less Ron Weasley. He might be one of her best friends, her colleague, one of her *people* – but she wasn't interested in trading battle notes. Especially because the truth was far worse than any of them knew.

"Ok, ok, enough about me. I'm fine," Hermione insisted. Despite the skeptical faces around the table, she pressed on. "I want to hear about the travels of the intrepid reporter right now." She extricated her glass from Ginny's hold and poured herself another mimosa, looking pointedly at her friend to rescue her. Luckily, Ginny got the message and began talking.

She tried to engage and listen to Ginny's exciting stories from the field – she really was curious how her work was going – but she was having a hard time concentrating. After so many years of feeling the burden of fear and stress balled up under her shoulder blades, it was a little unnerving that it was completely gone, and especially after just one massage.

One thing was for sure, she mused to herself. She had to figure out who this miracle worker was on Tuesday.

As she could have predicted, Tuesday's work day moved at a snail's pace. Instead of getting to work out in the field with Harry and Ron, she realized she had mounds of paperwork to catch up on yet again and ought to get it done. It made for a long, long day of slogging through. 5:30 PM couldn't come fast enough.

At 5:15, she gathered her things and took the long way to the massage therapist's office. Not wanting to look too eager (who exactly did she think was going to care? she wondered to herself), she opened the door to the office at 5:32 and was greeted by Gretchen, who gave her a warm hug.

After a few minutes of catch up chatter, Hermione began her long-awaited inquisition. "Gretchen, you know the therapist that worked on me last Friday? Who was that?"

Gretchen's eyebrows knitted and she looked worried. "Oh no, Miss Granger! It wasn't a bad experience, was it?"

"Oh, heavens no, Gretchen. He did an amazing job – so much so that I fell asleep before I got a chance to introduce myself properly. In fact, I was hoping that maybe I could request him again…" she trailed off, feeling a little too vulnerable under Gretchen's knowing gaze.

"I'm so glad it was satisfactory," Gretchen smiled. "His name is Vincent Feret, and as I think I mentioned last time, he is very new in town. Maybe from France? Anyway, he's been an excellent employee so far, so I'm glad he has your approval." She leaned in conspiratorially at this, and said in a whisper "He's quite handsome, too."

Hermione felt her cheeks heating up and quickly she picked up her purse and asked "Good to hear! Are you ready for me?"

Gretchen showed her to the room and she undressed quickly. She was too keyed up to feel at all tired, so she wasn't worried about falling asleep again, but there was the problem of how to situate herself so that she could see this Vincent as he walked in. She wasn't going to be tricked into relaxing this time!

"Maybe that's why you're all stressed out in the first place," she muttered to herself as she intentionally laid down face up on the massage table. Now, just to bide her time until…

And then, the door opened, and Hermione gasped with recognition and understanding.

Draco had been dreading this moment all day long. When he arrived for his shift that morning, Gretchen explained that he had a full day, including Miss Granger at a 5:30 appointment. Internally groaning, he nodded and smiled. He had spent all afternoon working out his plan of how to stay undetected through her massage – cast a Somnum spell through the door to help her relax, give her a few minutes for the true effects to take hold, then quietly and carefully give her a massage while she slept and walk out the door. Super professional, super helpful.

Of course, he hadn't accounted for the fact that a witch of Hermione's caliber would be under protective charms of her own making at all times. The Somnum spell had no effect.

So, his initial reaction when walking in and seeing Hermione looking straight at him, mouth agape and eyes wide, was to walk right back out the door and escape as quickly as possible. He could still do that, he told himself, his breathing erratic and fear coursing through his veins as he slowly closed the door behind him.

But there was something in her eyes, something like…openness? Kindness? Curiosity? It wasn't pity or fear – he was surprised that he saw neither of these emotions in her expressive face. It was almost as though, just by walking through the door, he had confirmed some suspicion she had. Maybe she had recognized him last time after all.

For a few minutes, all they did was stare at each other, awkward in their positions across the room. Hermione shifted and Draco suddenly realized that she must be undressed under the sheet and feeling even more uncomfortable than he was, if that was possible. He quickly turned his back to her and cleared his throat.

"I….I….I'm so sorry, Granger."

He could hear shuffling behind him as she pulled the sheet off the table and stood up.

"Just don't turn around for a minute, okay? I need to get dressed."

Her voice sounded somewhat timid, but not angry. His heart leapt despite himself. Could it be that he could start a new relationship with her, one without the influence of his family and the war?

He waited quietly until she cleared her throat and he could hear her walking up behind him. As he turned, there she was in all her Gryffindor glory – smart business suit, toe tapping in elegant heels, arms crossed, hair unruly, eyes inquisitive. Merlin's beard, he thought – who knew Hermione Granger could look this good?

He shook the thought out of his head, remembering the seriousness of the moment. He started again.

"I'm so sorry, Granger. I should've told you it was me the moment I walked in last week. I just…didn't know what to say, honestly. I didn't expect to see you – or anyone else – at this office, ever. I was kind of counting on it."

Hermione's eyes narrowed. "Strange, then, that you chose a massage therapy office so close to the Ministry. Wonder what that's about?" Her tone was intense, but not unkind.

Draco signed nervously. "I know. If I had to guess my intentions, this was an area of London I was familiar with and felt comfortable in. I should've known that I would eventually run into an old….school mate." He couldn't exactly call her a friend, could he? But acquaintance seemed too impersonal.

"And so, what? You're now a massage therapist in muggle London? Is this where you've been all this time?"

"I went on the run with my parents at first, and then after my mom died, I escaped my dad and came to the city. It took me awhile to get my license, so I've only been working for a few months." He was trying so hard to be honest. It was very difficult.

Hermione's gaze dropped and when she looked up again, he could see her relax a little. Did she think he had ill intentions? If he were her, that's exactly what he would think. No wonder she seemed on guard – she was intensely intimidating.

"Well, Malfoy, you really surprised me. I mean, I had my suspicions that there was something different about you. I left on Friday…" she trailed off, blushing.

"Did I hurt you?" His voice gave away his fear. "I thought since you fell asleep that I had helped. I hope…"

She shot him a look of surprise, and he deflected.

"I hope everything was to your liking." He cleared his throat nervously and looked down at his hands.

"It was a good massage, Malfoy." She was clearly trying to be professional and courteous, and he tried to adopt the same manner towards her.

"I'm happy to let Gretchen know that you'd like her to step in and take over, if you'd like me to."

"No, that won't be necessary. I'll get changed and settled, and you can come back in after 5 minutes." She started to say something else, but seemed to change her mind. "And how about we agree not to chat during the massage, okay?"

There was something in her tone that he couldn't put his finger on. Was she still upset about seeing him? Had she really liked the massage before, or was she just trying to be kind? Stupid Gryffindors – always intent on making things better.

He agreed and quickly stepped out into the hallway, then nearly sank down to the floor in relief. The moment he had dreaded the most had just happened, and it actually wasn't that bad. It was going to be awkward in a few minutes for sure, but she still wanted him to do the massage, so it couldn't be that bad.

Or could it? he wondered grimly.

Hermione's mind raced as she tried to think through the whole interaction while undressing with shaking hands. Unlike her usual calm, collected demeanor, her thoughts were screaming at her loudly. Malfoy HERE?! Why?! How?! Why was he so timid and meek towards her, kind even?! He was worried about hurting her?! When had his mom died?! Why did the ministry not know about that?! Where was his dad?! When had he become a different person?! And most importantly, how had he become such a good masseuse that she had willingly turned over her body to him?!

She knew she had only five minutes to prepare and she had so much to think through, so many questions to muddle over. She could feel her shoulders and neck tightening automatically, and the beginnings of pain behind her right eye were obvious.

A clear voice in her head broke through the befuddled screaming.

"Don't go barmy, Hermione. Just let him do his job and you can do yours after he's finished."

She sighed, laid face down on the bed, straightened her shoulders, and waited for him to come back in.


	5. Chapter 5

**I do not own anything Harry Potter.**

Chapter 5

Draco knocked quietly. He didn't hear a response, so he quickly opened the door and shut it behind him. There she lay – Hermione Granger, face down. He still couldn't believe she was letting him do the job.

It gave him quite a bit of confidence, honestly, that even though she knew exactly who he was, all of his history, everything, she still wanted him to do the massage. He had sped through his massage certification with nothing but high marks, so he was sure he was at least satisfactory, but Granger's seal of approval was another thing entirely. He tried to not let it go to his head.

Aware she wasn't interested in conversation, he cleared his throat, said a little prayer to Merlin in his head that he wasn't about to be hexed to next Thursday, and laid his hands on her back. She jumped a little at his touch, but then seemed to relax after a few minutes. He tried to concentrate on her muscles. Anytime he felt any kind of resistance, he tried to follow that tension up and down the muscle, loosening the knot as quickly and assuredly as he could. And she had plenty of tension – huge knots in her shoulders and neck that he was pretty sure he had worked on only last week. How was it this bad again already?

He guessed her job must be pretty intense. Draco had always spent lots of time at the Ministry with his dad, and though they certainly were never there to admire the hardworking everyday men and women doing their jobs – it always seemed they were visiting on some pretense of an evil plan – he had noticed plenty of times how seriously the Aurors took their jobs. After having been on the receiving end of all of that attention for years, he was intimidated by the whole department.

And he was certainly intimidated by the witch lying on his massage table. Even though she currently seemed to be in the most vulnerable position possible, he was fully aware of her powers. Not only the brightest witch of her age, but the most loyal, the kindest, the most hardworking. The attributes that drove him batty about her at Hogwarts now formed into begrudging admiration. And she certainly wasn't bad to look at, he thought.

Good god, Draco, get a hold of yourself and be a professional!

Hermione was warring with her own thoughts as Draco forcefully released the knots in her neck and back. Merlin, but it felt good to have him working on her again. How could a boy – she corrected herself, a man – who she had hated with intense fire in school be a lowly muggle service provider today? Not that she felt herself superior to him in any way – any work was good work – but Draco had been an excellent student and had the full might of the Malfoy name behind him. Could the war have really forced him to fall so far?

And then, it happened.

While her brain was busy flipping through a random catalog of thoughts, her body decided to betray her. Malfoy had hit a particularly sore spot in her shoulder, and without even thinking about it, a moan escaped her lips. And this wasn't just a small moan – it was a full blown, "I'm having an orgasm" moan.

Complete silence followed, and Hermione could feel herself blush from her forehead down to the tips of her toes. Malfoy stopped rubbing momentarily, and then, bless him, he started back up without a word. The heat of embarrassment running through Hermione's body seemed otherworldly and she could hear the blood rushing past her ears.

Well, she thought, that's it. I will never be able to look him in the face ever, ever again.

Malfoy's absolute joy and giddiness in hearing that moan – he had made Granger moan! - was immediately tempered with the realization that he had a situation that would be far more embarrassing for them both if she decided to suddenly sit up. The moan, it seems, had moved directly past his brain to his groin, and its effect was a full blown hard-on that was incredibly uncomfortable in his scrubs.

He couldn't run out. He knew she would never return, thinking that she had embarrassed him. But he couldn't let her know what was happening. So, he began thinking of anything that would temper this situation. Old people, sickness, death, cricket – he felt himself slowly relax as he finished up work on her arms and legs. Moving around to Hermione's head, he carefully wove his fingers through her hair and – oops – the situation was at hand again.

Blowing a quiet sigh of frustration at his inability to stay professional, he quickly finished her scalp massage and returned to her back and neck. It was where she needed the most work, for sure, and he gained back control of his body for the second time of the night. What was happening to him? Why did Granger have this much of an effect on his body, on his mind?

Hermione could tell Malfoy was wrapping up, and she needed to escape that room and fast. Hope you enjoyed the last massage you'll ever receive, she thought to herself with indignation.

And then, with a clear head, she decided that no, she was not going to let this be the end of this working relationship. Malfoy was an excellent masseuse – he was quiet and respectful and seemed to know her body better than she did. That thought, combined with the insistent voice in her head reminding her that she had MOANED at his touch, sent a thrill straight through her.

Am I really intrigued, turned on even, by Draco Malfoy, she wondered? How odd, indeed.

Draco cleared his throat again, pulled a water out of the fridge and set it on the counter, and started to head to the door. Before he got to the doorknob, though, Hermione turned her head and said, "Malfoy?"

"Yes?" he replied, a little too enthusiastically he thought.

"Thank you for my massage. I'm sorry for my, um, noise. I hope it didn't make this situation more awkward." Hermione was clearly trying to remain prim and proper.

Draco didn't mind prim and proper, but he thought a little teasing might help. So, with a grin, he responded, "I didn't mind your noise at all. Kind of enjoyed it, actually. See you next week?" And he closed the door, smiling in satisfaction at the look of utter shock on Granger's face.


	6. Chapter 6

*I do not own Harry Potter!

Chapter 6

There was something seriously wrong with Hermione Granger's brain. At least, that's what Hermione kept thinking all week as she tried to get her head in the game. Work was the same as it always was – stressful, intimidating, overwhelming – but Hermione's brain didn't seem to care. As she read over court documents in the evening with a cup of tea, she would idly wonder what Draco was up to at that very moment. Flooing into work one morning, she stretched out her shoulders, delighted at the pliability she found, and silently thanked her massage therapist, blushing as she did. Most egregiously, she compared every male coworker in her office to the picture in her head of Malfoy in his scrubs, finding they all came up short.

What in the hell was wrong with her? This was Draco Malfoy she was thinking about. The boy had made her school years a living hell. He had hurt the people she cared about over and over again, not to mention how he treated her in public and private.

And yet…and yet. Hermione knew there was so much more to Draco's story than what they saw in school. After years of chasing the remaining Death Eaters, she knew firsthand how most of these evil parents had treated their kids. What they had seen, what they had been through. All of it was horrendous and unspeakable, and worse because it was perpetrated by the very people that a child is supposed to trust and respect. She couldn't imagine Draco had escaped that terror, especially with a father like Lucius.

She decided she had to at least see who Draco is, who he had become, before she made any decisions. It was only fair. With this in mind, she phoned Gretchen and set up a massage with "Vincent Feret" (she had to chuckle to herself when she understood the meaning behind his new moniker) for Friday evening. With any luck, she could really talk to him and suss out his true character.

Draco wondered if there was ever going to be a time when he could hear Hermione Granger's name without a thrill of despair and hope running through him. Gretchen informed him of the Friday evening appointment when she got off the phone, and he spent the next two days debating whether he ought to call in sick. It's not that he was afraid of Granger – he reminded himself of this often, as though thinking it and feeling it were the same thing – but he didn't trust her. What was going to keep her from turning him into the Ministry the first chance she got? What if he accidently hurt her in her massage and she held a grudge against him? It seemed right to despise him after years of mistreatment.

And yet…and yet. She obviously trusted him enough to let him massage her multiple times. She had always been fair and generous with her kindness, even at his worst. And those fiery eyes and quick wit did something to him that he couldn't begin to explain. He certainly didn't mind touching her soft, lithe body and providing her relief from stress.

It was only fair to give her the benefit of the doubt, he told himself. Trust her a bit. Just until he could get to know her better and know what he was really dealing with. He would be ready and waiting for her on Friday.

When she strolled into the massage therapy office after work on Friday, "Vincent" was waiting for her in the lobby for the first time. She was surprised to see him outside of the room, but she was thankful that their initial contact this time wasn't while she was partially unclothed. Maybe he had planned that to make it more comfortable for her, she thought, and she found herself smiling at him.

He returned the smile, then waved her into the back and smoothly closed the door behind him. "Well, well, Granger, already here again? It hasn't even been a week since I last saw you." He smirked at her, eyes roaming over her body.

Well, maybe she had given him too much credit, she thought, and she smoothed her skirt and eyed him critically. He did look good, but he was still a prat evidently.

His demeanor suddenly totally shifted. As soon as he saw her critical stare, he started, then apologized. "Sorry, Granger. Sometimes I revert back to the Malfoy of old when I'm faced with someone from my past. I'm actually trying to not do that. My therapist says it will take time, but eventually I'll be able to be the new me all the time, without difficulty."

It would probably take her weeks to unpack all that had just happened in those ten seconds. Her brain was spinning with such a quick shift of personality and tone. Which was the real Malfoy, she wondered? She decided to go into Auror mode.

"How long have you been seeing a therapist, Malfoy? And are they Muggle or magical?"

"About six months, and she's a Muggle. I have to give her credit – figuring out all of that psychotherapy mumbo jumbo without the use of Legilimens or veritaserum. It's quite impressive. Besides, I can't risk being known in the magical world right now. I still keep up with a few of my mates, but I never see them publicly. There are too many people who still believe I was a legitimate Death Eater – including you, perhaps." He looked inquisitively at her.

She paused for a second before she answered. "My office has been looking for you and the rest of your family for awhile now. But mostly just to bring you in for questioning. The troubles we're having post-war don't have much to do with Death Eaters so much as people who still believe in Voldemort's power. People who would have never stood with him during the war, but feel emboldened now to fight, for some reason. It's exhausting."

He chuckled, then corrected himself. "Not laughing at you or the situation, but I definitely know how stressed you are, so I believe you."

She was surprised she believed _him_. She shrugged out of her suit jacket and laid it on the chair next to the massage table, then scooted so she was sitting on the table. "Any other insights on Muggles that you want to tell me?" she said, a little bit teasingly.

"They make delicious food, I'll tell you that. I don't know that I had ever eaten at a Muggle restaurant before the war, but now it's all I eat. Have you ever had Nando's?"

She laughed, and her smile lit up the room. "Oh yes, that was my favorite place to eat with my parents growing up. Don't tell me you get the mild peri-peri sauce?"

"Not quite, Granger, though I'm ashamed to say I can't handle much hotter than medium. Blaise dared me to try the XL Hot once and I about died." He laughed delightedly at the memory.

Hermione found herself actually tongue-tied. To see Draco Malfoy, boy of her nightmares, clutching his stomach in laughter before her – vulnerable, honest, kind. It was quite dizzying to watch. Her head felt like it needed a minute.

She wasn't going to get it, because Draco turned those slate grey eyes toward her with a penetrating look. "Are you going to turn me in to the Ministry, Hermione?"

Of all the conversation chess moves to make, Draco had gone straight to checkmate. He had always been smart, top of the class, second only to her. And she had known that he would be good at verbally sparring. He had certainly knocked the wind out of her sails a number of times in school.

But this, this surprised her. It probably shouldn't have, but it did. Again, his vulnerability on display, with no walls to try to hide it. Asking implicitly for her help, for her cover, for any scrap of notoriety she might have in post war Wizarding London to help keep him from society. In the past, she might have felt put out by this blatant show of need, especially by a former Death Eater, but in Malfoy it was surprisingly refreshing. She felt for him and wanted to help, simply put.

"I'm not," she said firmly, and he blew out a large sigh of relief, then looked down for a minute.

"I truly appreciate it. Truly."

"Happy to help, Vincent Feret." She made sure to emphasize the accent, smirking.

He guffawed, that smile coming back to his face. "Can I go ahead and give you your massage now? Or do you just want to skip it and go get a cuppa with me?"

"Massage first, Malfoy."

"Yes ma'am…"


	7. Chapter 7

*I do not own Harry Potter.

Chapter 7

The evening could not have been more perfect, Draco thought as he watched Granger…Hermione! he corrected himself...smiling as a new song came on at the pub. He had given her a slightly shortened massage, only because Hermione kept asking him good questions about school subjects they had both enjoyed. They chatted about potions and history of magic before she confessed about fifteen minutes into the massage that she had always dreamt of being a professor back at Hogwarts, which was basically the end of Draco's ability to multitask.

You see, he had a similar dream, one he had never dared share with anyone in his family or social class. One wasn't a Malfoy and a professor - too lowly a job for a man of means. It was never said aloud, but it was implied in a million different undertones.

"I, actually, would like to be a professor at Hogwarts too," Draco said – and immediately regretted it. What in the fuck was he thinking? Admitting such a thing to a woman he hardly knew? And who he had only started truly trusting less than ten minutes ago? He felt a bit bombarded by all the thoughts racing through his head. Was she going to be her exceptionally kind self, or would she be snarky and witty? Again, he wouldn't blame her if she despised him after years of mistreatment.

"I could really see that, Malfoy. You were always better at potions than I was. I personally think that was Snape bias to a certain extent, but I have to admit that I certainly received positive bias from Professor McGonagall over the years, so I can't really stand on that logic, now can I?"

He smiled at her efforts at fairness, and her exceptional ability to balance wit with empathy. Once a Gryffindor, always a Gryffindor. He was trying desperately to keep his mind on her character and not on how the side of her right breast had a small mole. He had not noticed it before, but now that he was leaning down to chat (why was he leaning down? Do your work, Draco!), there it was.

And this was how the massage started back up, because Draco found himself in a similar situation as three days before, and he needed time to…control himself…before continuing the conversation.

Hermione hadn't seemed to notice that anything was amiss, thank Merlin's balls. She had continued chatting for so long that at some point, there was a knock at the door, then a sing-songy "We're closing up, Vincent," from the hallway. Were they really getting kicked out of his work? You don't have to go home, but you can't stay here, he thought wryly.

So he asked if Granger…Hermione! he corrected himself...would like to go out for a drink. Perhaps it was too forward of him? He couldn't tell her reaction, because her face was still in the cushioned pillow facing the floor. But her words said "Sure!" with an emphasis on the exclamation point, so he thought, what the hell?

He left the massage room and changed in the men's restroom. He had come to work that morning in a jumper, slacks, and loafers – his everyday disguise into Muggle-dom. Draco felt he looked appropriately smart but unrecognizable when he blended in with everyone around him. For the last year of his life, he had enjoyed not standing out. But today, he wished he had worn something a little more dapper.

Hermione did not seem to mind his outfit. In fact, she giggled when he walked into the lobby and did a slow turn with a hand flourish. "I like the jumper. Do you pull that little zipper all the way up to your Adam's apple when you're cold and frustrated about a girl?"

"What in the hell is an Adam's apple, Granger? I get the vague idea you are mocking me, but nothing about what you just said makes sense, so I have no idea how to respond."

"It's from a Muggle movie, Draco. We'll watch it sometime."

WE? Draco tried not to be so pleased.

They had made their way in the fresh evening air to a local pub down the street. Both of them had been there before, so the familiarity felt instantly cozy. It didn't hurt that they easily found two chairs right by the fire, and a waitress came for their drinks without a wait.

"I'll have a Moscow Mule," Hermione requested. "And an order of fish and chips. And some pub cheese with pretzel crisps. Please."

Draco looked at her in mock astonishment, then smiled up at the waitress. "Make that two, please. And some water for both of us. Massage therapist orders," and winked lasciviously at Hermione.


	8. Chapter 8

*I do not own Harry Potter.

Chapter 8

Hermione knew she was going to get super tipsy if she drank without eating something. This fact was third in line, though, behind the two main reasons she ordered a flat ton of bar food - she was terribly hungry, and terribly happy.

She wasn't sure she would ever get over how different the man sitting beside her was now. It was an intense conundrum, fighting against her long-held beliefs about his family and about him personally. But she tried to remind herself that he was doing the same internal work, fighting against years of blood purity nonsense drilled into his conscience. It couldn't be easy, but he seemed to be managing very well.

And he was lovely to talk to. He was funny, kind and smart. Most of her exes only had one of those attributes going for them. Wait, she thought. Why am I thinking about ex-boyfriends at a table with Draco Malfoy? This is a friendship, nothing more.

A loud voice within her snickered, "Is this how you typically act around your friends, 'Mione?"

She checked herself. Big smile, shining eyes, leaning in, occasionally looking down and back up with the tiniest bat of her eyelashes. No, she defiantly corrected the simpering voice, it's not. I'm flirting with Draco Malfoy. It was as simple and complicated as that.

Once they both had enjoyed a few drinks and their big platters of food, Hermione sat back, stuffed. Why was she so un-self-conscious around him? She always felt the need to be dainty yet fierce around her friends. There was none of that between her and Draco. Maybe letting her guard down in the massage room had translated into vulnerability in other areas of her personality, too.

When the bill came, Hermione pulled out her card, but Draco returned the folder with cash before she could hand it over. "You don't need to treat me to dinner, Draco. I can split it with you."

"Thanks, but no thanks. I don't want to be indebted to a Gryffindor for any reason."

"You never know, you might enjoy being in debt to me."

It slipped out so quickly – that saucy little retort – that she actually gasped. She met Draco's eyes timidly.

He roared with laughter for so long that she was beginning to be embarrassed about his hilarity and not her silly comment. When he finally caught his breath, he leaned over conspiratorially and gave her a sly smile that creased the skin around his eyes with smile lines.

"I definitely might, Granger. I definitely might."


	9. Chapter 9

*I do not own Harry Potter.

Chapter 9

She had felt quite proud of herself an hour later when she had stood up, thanked Draco for a lovely evening, and declared she was heading home. She had enough drink in her to feel delightfully bubbly, but nowhere near tipsy. And she had a plan formulating in her brain that she wanted to map out, at home, in her pajamas and no bra, preferably eating some Walker's Thai Chili Crisps.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Draco said, sitting up. "I'm fine with you heading home, but can't I walk with you or something? I don't feel super comfortable with you going by yourself."

Hermione smiled. "Thank you, but I'm going to go back up to the Ministry for a bit. I need to grab a few things before I floo home."

Draco grimaced. "Gotcha. Okay, well, it's really been fun, Granger." He looked down at his shoes, seeming to feel the moment awkward. Then he looked back up at her and asked, with a straight face, "Do you think these shoes look nice on me? Or are they too old-fashioned?" She couldn't help but laugh as she turned to walk off.

"See you soon?" Draco asked, and she turned to smile at him.

"Yes."

The weekend was spent imagining all the different scenarios that she could play out next time she saw him. She could imagine him being intrigued with any of them really: the shy, uncertain girl; the flirty, fun girl; the standoffish but beautiful girl. Then, around Sunday evening, she remembered – this isn't a porn film, Granger, this is real life. Just be yourself. If he doesn't like it, then he doesn't deserve it. She celebrated this wake up call by making her own phone call to Gretchen, who booked her an appointment with Vincent the following afternoon.

Draco thought he had felt unsure of himself around Hermione during their first few meetings, but was disillusioned of that thought as soon as she stepped in the lobby Monday afternoon after work. She was wearing a tight sheath dress with a fitted blazer, all in a deep purple. Her honeyed curls were practically bouncing as she walked into the room, brain obviously still at work. A second later, and she mentally caught up to her surroundings.

"Oh, sorry, Draco. Just got pulled into a meeting before I left, and I couldn't get it off my mind. I thought a bit of fresh air would help, but it clearly didn't." She worried her lip a little, then sighed. "Glad I made this appointment. Seems I need the stress relief."

"No problem, Ms. Granger. Right this way, please."

Yes, over formality was the answer. He had let his guard down too quickly, and he already felt far too comfortable with her. He was going to be friendly and professional and courteous. And polite. And he was not going to think about anything but those very fine attributes while he was listening to her soft sighs as he rubbed her tension away.

No, he was not.

He left her to get ready in the room and gave her an extra ten minutes at least to make sure she was completely prepared. He knocked softly, then peered into the room.

Hermione was laying on the table, face down, just as she always was. But this time – this time – she was not covered by the sheet or a towel. Except for a small lacy white scrap of knickers covering her shapely bum, she was waiting for him, bare.

Draco didn't even try to relax the situation that arose this time. This was intentional flirting, intentional interest. Hermione was too smart, too crafty, to not see this as a winning chess move. He frantically tried to think of how she imagined he would react to finding her like this.

Old Draco would've done something absolutely horrendous, and that was not at all how he would ever react now. But it left the question – what does new Draco do in this scenario? It bothered him that he knew old Draco so much better than new Draco. How could he ever be this new person without seeming inexplicable, even to himself?

New Draco, he realized suddenly, would play the game along with her. Not to beat her, not to push her towards a side. He wanted to play the game, too, because it seemed like he was going to have a ton of fun.

He made no comment to Hermione as he finished walking over to her. She remained still and didn't interrupt the quiet of the room, either. He smoothly pumped some warm oil into his hands and carefully let it drip from his fingers to her back. She shivered slightly, then stilled. Slowly, he let his fingers etch into the outside edges of her shoulder blades, pressing firmly as he followed the pain up into her neck and skull. As she sighed contentedly, he had a hazy feeling of relaxation as well. His shoulders felt loose and warm, which was unusual in his line of work. Most often, his releasing others' knots created them in his own body.

But it seemed with Hermione, the opposite was true. The more he worked on her tension, the less he felt in himself. I'm losing my damn mind, he thought. Focus, Malfoy.

It was really hard to do so when miles and miles of beautiful skin were under him, waiting to be oiled and rubbed. He moved down to the bottom of the table and began working on her feet. She was no longer hiding her moans of pleasure, and he was leaning down to lick the interior arch of her foot when he caught himself just in time. Instead, he smoothed more oil on her calves and tried to concentrate on any pain in her legs. There was the usual stiffness that most women who wear heels everyday carry, but otherwise nothing concerning. He moved up – trying not to think about it too much – to her thighs, but his situation downtown was suddenly so intense that he had to take a breath.

He noticed while he cooled down, idly rubbing the small of Hermione's back, that the back of her neck, unlike the rest of her body, was bright red. "I wasn't too rough on your neck, was I, Ms. Granger?"

If anything, the red deepened to a darker shade and she managed a rough, "No, thank you, everything's fine."

Draco smiled. This blush was the work of his thigh ministrations, not the intense neck rub. Excellent. He might be playing this game with her, but that didn't mean he didn't like having the upper hand every once in a while.

He moved back down to the end of the table and began making long strokes up from the back of her ankles to the top of her thigh, making contact over and over again with the very edge of her lacy panties. He noticed Hermione's breath growing erratic, and she was gripping the edge of the table. He rubbed a final time, sweeping his warm fingers along the inside of her legs, barely making contact with the apex of her thighs before placing a friendly hand on the side of her ankle.

"Our hour is up. Thank you, Ms. Granger, for your repeat business. I hope you were satisfied with your visit today." He could barely contain the smirk in his tone.

Hermione cleared her throat but didn't seem ready to try for words. He patted her ankle, pulled a water out of the fridge, and left the room, cockier than he had felt in many years.


	10. Chapter 10

**I do not own anything Harry Potter.**  
Chapter 10  
Hermione's body felt like a traitorous castaway, relaxed and loose and turned on to hell while her mind raced. Malfoy had done exactly what she had set him up to do, and yet it felt so unexpected. A few years ago, Malfoy would have reacted to this moment so differently – he would have walked in, confidently slapped her ass, laughed while taking a blurry selfie with her body in the background, and made her the laughingstock of every common room on campus. This new Draco was incredible and scary – she couldn't decide if she was even close to understanding him.

Not that she would have ever DARED to do what she had just done a few years ago, either. Perhaps the best way to look at it, she assured herself, was to believe they were both growing up.

And grown he had, she thought. Hermione was sure it was completely unintentional, but she had felt him press against her feet slightly during his sweeps of her legs. She thought about using her foot to stroke him, but decided she wasn't quite ready yet for what would inevitably happen after that move.

No doubt about it, Malfoy was an incredibly gifted masseuse. She wondered lasciviously whether his massage skills were as deft in other areas of the body. If I don't stop my brain for one second, she scolded herself, I'm going to have to masturbate on the massage table.

To avoid that eventuality, she jumped off the table and quickly slipped back on her dress and heels, but not before stealing a glance at herself in the mirror. She had to admit that she looked great in the knickers. The choice of the particular look and color had her debating with herself long into the night before. It was these parts of her personality that both made her feel strong and sexy, as well as immature and ridiculous. Being a girl was weird.

She wondered if Malfoy would be waiting for her in the lobby as she left, but it was empty and quiet as she walked through. Stepping out into the cold air of the evening, she shivered slightly and pulled her coat more tightly around her. A buzz emanated from her right pocket, just one insistent noise. A text. It could wait until she got to the tube.

The relief in her fellow passengers' faces as they descended with her to the warmth of the transport system below was palpable, and Hermione was sure she could feel her shoulders detach from her earlobes as she stopped shivering. Despite her dislike for the sudden changes in temperature that precluded public transportation, she loved getting to people watch and feel like she was part of the hum of the city. The anonymity of the Muggle world was a warmth in and of itself that flooded her.

She reached into her pocket and checked her phone. One text from an unknown London number. Against her better judgement, she clicked on it.

"Ms. Granger, it was a delight to massage you again this evening.

May I request that you participate in an after-care survey?"

Cheeky bastard, she thought as a smile crept on her face. The score was currently Love – All, so she couldn't just ignore it. Her thumbs flew over the keys.

"Mr. Ferret, a delightful time was had by all. I would be happy to participate in this survey, although I confess that I've never received a survey request before from your office. Is this a new service you are providing to your customers?"

"Very new, in fact, Ms. Granger. You are our guinea pig, as it were. Hope you don't mind a little…experimentation."

Hermione gasped a little at the brazenness of the suggestion. Well, if he was going to keep lobbing quaffles at her, she was going to do her best to return them.

"Not at all, Mr. Ferret. I've been a forward thinker most of my life. Never afraid of a little…adventure."

"Glad to hear it, Ms. Granger. Now, how would you rank my massage? 1 thru 10, 10 meaning "I could barely hold in my sighs of joy" to 1 meaning "Well, this is the end of my masseuse's life as we know it."

Hermione knew he was jabbing at her with that "sighs of joy" comment. The teasing seemed so good-natured, though, that it felt intimate and flirty. She stepped through the doors of the train, barely noticing her surroundings.

"I'm going to say a solid 8.7."

She waited a beat before she typed anything else.

"Think you can beat your personal best sometime?"

"I'm definitely interested in doing my best, Ms. Granger."

Then, a long beat as Hermione watched the three conversation dots flicker across her screen. She could practically feel the tension of each second as she waited for what was sure to be a witty response.

"…I serve at your pleasure."


	11. Chapter 11

Hi friends! Thanks for your kind comments and encouragement! I would love to hear what you want to happen after this chapter - so many ways for this relationship to head...I, of course, have my own ideas of what I'm wanting to happen, but let me hear from you!

* * *

**I do not own anything Harry Potter**

Chapter 11

She tried to, as inconspicuously as possible, dart her eyes towards the other side of the couch. His reaction was crucial here, and she'd been dreading the moment for the 48 hours preceding it. Martin Freeman and Joanna Page were obviously stand-ins for a porn film, and she could feel the blush rising quickly.

But before she could laugh nervously to hide the shaky feeling in her stomach, he belted out a laugh, incredulous and happy. She watched as he covered his mouth, clearly still smiling but afraid to miss a word of the adorable exchange. As the screen panned to a new story, he reached for the pause button.

"Didn't see that coming, Granger. Didn't peg you as a…" He smiled, then his eyes darted down. "Well, I guess you know what I mean."

"Don't actually know. Care to elaborate?" She loved this jokey, flirty, goofy repertoire their relationship had taken on, and she knew Love Actually was the perfect movie for them. Tragedy, beauty, hope, and some incredible lines made it one of the best of all time. And they had somehow gotten through the awkward unscathed – although Malfoy was looking a bit chastened. No need for that! She rose to grab the wine he had thoughtfully brought with him, refilling both of their glasses before she got comfortable again under the blankets.

He had come over earlier in the evening under the pretense that he was about to pick up Nando's and was she interested in him bringing dinner to her place? She hated to admit that she hesitated – bringing him to her home was a whole new level of friendship, of vulnerability, that couldn't be boxed back up once it was unpacked. But she had already had a couple glasses of wine, chicken sounded incredibly delicious, and she wanted to see what he looked like today. It was all she thought about these days.

So she said yes and suggested a movie, too – he needed to see the moment Andrew Lincoln zipped his jumper within an inch of its life. It delighted her every time. And Hugh Grant's amazing dance, and Colin Firth's jump into the pond with the eels…it was such a good collection of stories. And now that they had eaten and talked and started the movie, she could relax a little.

As she started back up the movie, she swung her legs into the open space between them, leaning her back against the arm of the couch. He looked at her, smiled, then reached slightly under the blankets. She looked at him, surprised, but he was already watching her face.

"Okay if I rub your feet while we watch? I'm aiming for an 8.9 tonight."

God, she was going to self-combust if they kept up all this innuendo. It was so hot for so much to still feel forbidden.

Not trusting her voice, she nodded quickly and turned her head to watch the movie. But her mind was still completely focused on his hands on her feet and ankles. Strong and sure movements, just like at work. Intuitively digging his knuckles into her sensitive arches, careful not to tickle. It was incredible.

After a few minutes, without even thinking about it, she closed her eyes and leaned her head back on the couch arm. She could hear her breath, deep and measured. She could tell he was watching her, and she felt strangely unencumbered. Let him watch her enjoy the pleasure he was giving her. It was like she was floating above herself, watching the scene play out.

She felt his hands drift to her calves, waiting, questioningly, until she merely nodded her head. First her left, then her right, he stretched her muscles almost to the point of pain, then released the tension in the next second. He never seemed to tire.

After 20 minutes of the most thorough foot and leg massage she'd ever been treated to, Malfoy slid his body under her legs and the blankets. She could feel the muscles in his legs under her knees. He was so close to her, so much of him touching her.

"I'm a little chilly. Okay if I share your blanket?"

His eyes were steel grey, with a warmth that belied the metal. He seemed to be waiting for her to do something, anything.

So she did. Hermione Granger leaned in until her breath mingled with his, looked into his eyes, and kissed him.


End file.
